Mercy Soulmate AU
by Zarabethe
Summary: What if the first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your arm at birth? This is a re-write of the first chapter of Mercy exploring that.


**This was a challenge in one of my fanfiction groups, and I really liked the way it turned out. Self-indulgence. **

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Late nights at the hospital always made Shirelle nervous. Okay, if she were completely honest, anytime she was at work she was on edge, but at least during the day there was so much to do and she was so busy that her mind had no time to wander, and before she knew it her shift was over and she could crash into her cot in the Barracks without regret. There was certainly no time to overhear conversations in the ward she was working about soul mates.

"...and before I knew it, there he was, asking to pet my dog! What a strange thing for a soul mate to say to each other, huh?"

"Aw, that's so sweet! I met mine while I was at work, so you can imagine how many people came through my till with a similar line before I found mine."

"Lights out," Shirelle called out, a little gruffer than she intended. The gnome and the human settled back down into their cots and continued their conversation in whispers. Shirelle sighed and rubbed her temples.

In a world where finding your soulmate was essential, possibly the most important event of your life, it was difficult to avoid conversations about it. To help identify who your soul mate was, it was divined at birth what the first words your soul mate spoke to you, and it was tattooed on your arm. It was only natural that most people obsessed the majority of their early life about finding them. Shirelle had never glanced at her tattoo with anything but apprehension though.

_Do not speak._

She cringed just thinking about it. How rude it was to tell someone not to speak, especially someone you were destined to remain with the rest of your life? Besides that, just the idea of being with a soul mate was intimidating. She was 95% sure she was not interested in sexual activities at all, and men frankly terrified her.

Shirelle realized she was crumpling the paperwork on her desk up with her hands and she straightened the sheets out flat. Even just thinking about it compromised her job and her ability to concentrate. She took a deep breath, and tried to still her mind. She had work to focus on, patients to watch over, and there was no time to worry about soul mates right now.

It was only later, when she lay gasping and choking on the ground, scrabbling to crawl around the side of the desk and hide, did she consider the merits of not speaking. It might have helped, when the drunk patient called out to her, to simply not answer him and instead go about her rounds. And when he advanced on her, clearly much more in control of his bodily functions she had assumed, it might have been less provoking to shut her mouth and run for it, rather than stand her ground and tell him to leave her alone. By the time he had backed her into a corner, one hand on her throat, and the other tearing at her robe, there were no options to speak anymore.

Shirelle crouched behind the desk, panting through her bruised throat, her arms over her head, her vision blurred with tears. Someone had caught them. They had flung her attacker across the room and all she could hear was biting words in a low, husky voice, and the man whimpering on the floor. She found herself not caring what her savior did with him, but she clapped her hands over her ears so she didn't have to hear it. She tried to focus on not sobbing as more crashing came from the main lobby. Sobbing hurt her throat, and it was already so hard to breathe. After several minutes, the hospital was quiet. Cautiously, she removed her hands and listened. There was a quiet click, click, on the tiles of the floor and it was coming closer. It had to be her rescuer, but she couldn't stop trembling. The air around her dropped in temperature, and despite herself, she squeezed her eyes shut. The footsteps stopped right beside her, and she heard the rustle of clothing and clink of metal armor. She forced herself to open her eyes.

The most brilliant, kindest blue eyes she had ever seen bore into hers. She quickly took in the rest of the person's appearance: dark skin, horns that curled back from her forehead, dark saronite armor, and hooves. A death knight. A draenei death knight, like her. Tears started to flow down her face as she tried in vain to speak to her. She might have been saying thank you, or who are you, but the death knight shook her head and hushed her.

"Do not speak." She gently touched her bruised throat with two fingers, and Shirelle froze. Her rescuer did not seem to realize the source of her discontent, and instead carefully pulled her to standing.

"Are you injured?" Still in shock, Shirelle shook her head, and pointed to her throat. Just unable to speak. The death knight nodded her head, and taking her hand, led her out from behind the desk. Shirelle noticed that there were other noises in the room now: guards standing around making notes, the other nurse on duty checking on patients, and there was her attacker, slumped against the wall. Dead or unconscious, she didn't know. His hands were in irons, so it was possible he still lived.

"Oh Shir!" Freyda, the dwarf paladin that was usually in charge of her shift, flung herself at her in a hug. Shirelle managed a wan smile at her enthusiasm. "Can ye believe it? Horace, that bastard! If he ever makes it outta jail and into me hospital again, I'll kill 'em."

The death knight had not wandered off to join the guards, but instead stayed near her as Freyda fussed over her. She cursed over her torn robe, but it was obvious that tearing it was all he had managed to do, and Freyda made a sigh of relief that Shirelle understood completely.

"Lean down here, lass, and I'll fix yer throat." Shirelle did as she was told, and felt a soothing warmth wash over her, healing her bruised throat and taking away some of her headache. She stood again, clearing her throat experimentally. The death knight was speaking behind her.

"I am glad you are well. If you will excuse me-"

"Thank you, for everything."

The death knight had been adjusting the strap on her bracer, and stopped. This time it was her turn to stare at the priest in shock. Shirelle found herself blushing at her frank gaze. The death knight seemed to recover quickly, and nodded her head.

"You are welcome. People do not often thank me, considering what I am."

Shirelle watched in growing confusion as she turned and walked away. Was it possible she had misinterpreted her look, and she was mistaken? She left Freyda behind, and hurried after her. She was fast for being so laden with armor, and Shirelle wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped outside into the cold night air. The death knight was only a few feet away, head tilted up to watch the drizzling rain drenching the sidewalk and covering everything with a fine sheen. Shirelle cringed as she stepped out into the rain.

"Wait!" The death knight turned to her sharply.

"Go back inside, priest."

"I saw the way you looked at me." Shirelle gripped the fabric of her robe rightly. The death knight dropped her head to the side, avoiding her eyes. She held onto the pommel of her runesword as if it were the only thing that could ground her. Her voice was quieter and Shirelle had to strain to hear her against the backdrop of the rain.

"Please go back inside. You do not want to be bound to me."

Shirelle pushed her sleeve up as stepped closer to the death knight. She was no longer afraid of what was written just below her elbow.

"What does yours say?"

The death knight turned on her in a sudden show of anger. "You know what I am. I do not have a soul anymore. This is impossible, it should have faded out when I was turned. It is too late for me."

Shirelle waited, holding her arm out. After a heartbeat, the death knight tugged at the strap of her bracer. She removed it, and rolled the sleeve of her shirt up.

_Do not speak._

_Thank you, for everything._

The words glowed faintly a moment, before fading completely. Shirelle sucked in a breathe. This was really it. She really was her soul mate. The death knight watched their bare arms for a moment, her mouth pressed into a line. When she spoke, Shirelle could barely hear her.

"You do not have to do this-"

"So should I be with someone like that monster in the hospital?" Her voice was sharper than she intended it. The death knight met her eyes, finally, and she was again taken back at how blue they were. "I'd rather not, if I have a choice in it."

There was the barest of smiles on the death knight's face. If Shirelle had not been looking right at her when the corner of her mouth turned up, she would have missed it. She smiled back at her.

"What is your name?"

The death knight busied herself in rolling her sleeve back down and re-attaching her bracer. "Before, my name was Allendrelle. Now, I am known only as Maerciless."

She flicked her eyes up as she adjusted the strap. "I'd prefer you use my birth name."

"Allendrelle." Shirelle tried out the way it sounded in her mouth. She liked it.

"I am Shirelle."

Now that the introductions were over, Shirelle suddenly found herself intimidated by the idea of having a soul mate that was not only a woman, but an elite soldier for the army. She looked at her hands as she spoke.

"I'm, uh, not really sure what to do next here."

She felt cool hands on her chin, lifting her face. Allendrelle was all serious again, and did not intrude on her personal space anymore than it took to get her attention.

"No expectations. Companionship, if you are willing, is enough for me." She dropped her hands, and again adjusted the strap of her bracer. It appeared to be a nervous habit, as it was not out of place.

"I must return to my garrison now. I will stop by later to see you?"

Her eyes were cautious, and Shirelle was already looking forward to getting to know the rest of her expressions. She nodded her assent.

"I will be here."


End file.
